


Songbird

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, annette joins the imperial army au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: Felix tries to help Annette move past Gronder. Post-timeskip CF route. A response to SymphonicWinds’ “Recovering from Defeat”.





	Songbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SymphonicWinds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonicWinds/gifts).

> dis-fuckn-claimer: i havent played cf yet bc I’m a weenie and the lions ruined me so if anything is wrong I’m sorry also hi so ily

Felix will follow her voice sometimes. His sense of hearing is more honed than the others’... that or Annette’s voice is loud and the rest of the army are dead to the world when they sleep. Regardless it is better than the sounds back in Fraldarius territory—sounds of howling wolves and cries of hungry people. He will take silly songs about cleaning and books over the wounded and dying. He is sure many will take it too.

He will happily take it over her wailing cry. The moment when she said, “I can’t kill you Felix.” Even a thought of it sends a shiver down his spine. 

It’s been a few days, maybe a week since she joined the Empire army. She hasn’t left her room since. He and Sylvain have brought her meals but she barely eats, only stirring bowls of soup until they are stone cold and picking at edges of hard bread with bloody fingernails. She is silent the entire time they visit. He knows her heart is heavy both with guilt and shame for leaving Faerghus. 

But Faerghus is no more. The kingdom is no more. Their army is destroyed, their lands are in ruin and there is nothing left for her. She was saved, but at the cost of peace, the cost of dying with honour and pride and arrogance. 

Then again, all is fair in love and war too. 

He is surprised that she sings. Even this late into the night and the heaviness in her heart. Felix has been able to coerce her into a song with a bowl of onion gratin soup, but it was sung with a forced smile. 

This one he hears now, is not about swamp beasties or bears or a vanishing library. It is sad, mournful. It calls to Seiros, to Sothis, asking for salvation and absolution. It calls for an end. 

In a tired haze, he pulls himself from his bed, from comfort and sleep and listens at the desk, where he had once written term papers and solved tactical problems. It all seems so long ago, in youth, in times of peace. Could it be peace? They teetered precariously everywhere. Faerghus was never safe for commoners, only safe for nobility who could cover behind their backs and spill their blood. The lines of hardship never weakened, no matter what they tried. 

And now that they were with the Empire, with Adrestia, they were traitors. Well, he and Sylvain were traitors before Annette. They had joined when they were still in school and stayed when Emperor Edelgard began her conquest. Annette was merely a prisoner of war. Just like a lark in a wire cage; a songbird held for entertainment. 

When he lowered Moralta and she dropped Crusher, the battlefield was brought to a standstill. Hubert looked about ready to engulf her in black magic, but Edelgard held out her hand, judging her in Felix’s arms. A young woman with great magical prowess, equipped with her own relic and the best—broken, with no will or energy to fight back. A perfect fit for the Empire. He remembers the relief that washes over him for a moment, feeling the black magic dissipate in the ozone, fresh air filling his lungs at last. 

Her voice carries quietly on the evening breeze. She is probably at her window. He remembers wandering back from the town grounds with Sylvain one night when they were just students. Felix could even see her figure at the window as she sang.

“Quite the set of pipes.” Sylvain had called playfully, then whistled loud and low. Her voice had stopped until they were inside the monastery, then quietly, she began again and sang until he fell asleep.

Her voice is quiet, but strong. He can’t remember if her dorm was right beside his, or a couple over, but her voice is clear and the night is still enough that it carries along. The following rooms have emptied now—the kingdom dead and the Alliance dissolved. He wonders if it is only the two of them this close now, or if others can hear. 

Felix would like to think it’s the latter. 

He doesn’t really care for music. Never has. He didn’t like the dances he was forced to, especially didn’t like them after Glenn died and he had to dance with poor Ingrid. All the songs were stiff, formal, not to mention a waste of time. Even the ball at the Goddess Tower. That was useless. He had skipped most of the night and came for the last few dances so no one would curse him out. In the end... 

Well in the end, it made little difference. Things turned out the way they did: he accepted Byleth’s invitation to the Black Eagles and Annette refused. Then he went back to Fraldarius territory and the rest of the lions went their separate way. 

Her voice begins to falter, muffled by sleep. She’s probably tired. Mournful songs are always the hardest on the heart. He hears the songbird’s voice begin to die down and he thinks that her music is the only one that he enjoys.

* * *

The following night, Felix pulls himself from bed for a walk. He can’t sleep, not that well. He wanders the monastery, the guards and soldiers not bothering him as they keep watch. Had it been five years ago, they would’ve given him a hard time, shuffling him back to bed for his own good. But now they turn their eyes from him, instead looking for bandits and thieves. 

Felix grips his sword slightly as he walks across the bridge from the monastery to the cathedral. It is a pretence, a caution. The monastery should be safe, but back home, anything could come out and bite back. And it’s not just him. He can feel Sylvain begin to call black magic, the ground beneath their feet heating when they walk in the cold nights. 

The cathedral is washed in dark blue. If he looks hard enough, he can see small dots in the sky. Stars, twinkling brightly. Such stars do not know the wounds of the mortals, the pains of the humans. 

The cathedral used to be much bigger in his youth. Either that, or he has gotten taller. He glances over the bridge, where the damaged spires have fallen down to the ground below; the brick crumbles by the day and more of the land retakes this holy place. It has a haunting beauty to it, one that aches in the hearts of the holy.

Felix stands in the doorway. He’s never felt comfortable in churches, although this father and brother were devout. Something about them has always set him off, made him feel uncomfortable in their holy eminence; as if Seiros herself has been judging him from birth. 

He can hear footsteps echo through the church. Then someone at the altar, blinded in the bright moonlight. He watches for a moment. 

Then he hears her sing again. He heard her last week, heard her when he had handed over that soup in her room, but this time it actually sounds like her. Not a mournful songbird wailing in her cage. She doesn’t sound happy, no. She sounds strangely like herself. The lyrics are still sad but it’s no doubt Annette. 

It’s been a long day, a horrible march and he yearns for sleep but his mind will not let him. In truth, he hasn’t slept well for many years, not Glenn died. That trauma, the unrest that overtook Faerghus and corruption that ran deep hoarded his sleep because he knew that one day he would become Duke, and these problems would be his. Not yet, but soon. It comes back on these nights, to the point where his sword arm aches and he must fight something. But the round table discussions that ran from dawn to dusk and the moonlight match against Petra that day has left him tired, to the point of exhaustion.

But Annette—out of her room, singing in the cathedral light—takes some of his exhaustion away. 

He thinks about stepping past the pillars that hide him, to stand beside her and ask what she has lost. None are free of scars in this house. It’s strange, they are of the same dead country, the same academy, the same  house , but he feels he knows nothing about her. He does not know her; she does not know him. They are strangers.

Yet, when he hears her sing, watching her in the shattered stained glass and marble rubble, he thinks he knows her pain, he knows her woes. And for a brief moment, he forgets his problems. In the cathedral light, watching her hands clasp tightly, Felix feels ease. Like there is still hope for Faerghus, for Leicester, for Adrestia, for the Church. In the light, this is all a bad nightmare that he will wake from soon enough, that this war will be nothing but a strange dream and he will see Ingrid and Dimitri and the other Lions again. That he may see Annette smile once more. And not forced, not quaking at the edges and with narrow eyes; but joyful and genuine.

Such a thought it is alluring. He takes a step. Then another. 

Her song stops. He can feel the air grow thick and heavy, it becoming hard to breathe. She’s calling forth black magic. Figures—Edelgard confiscated Crusher, she only had her spells to protect her in a world of strangers. Wind magic isn’t friendly—it spurs colds and illness with it’s freezing chill. Last thing he needs is to be bedridden.

“Who’s there?” Annette calls out. She is so nervous, like a songbird. 

He swallows back fear. “It’s me.”

“Felix?” She asks. He can see her brow furrow in the moonlight.

He can’t quip back or sarcastically rebuke her. She is still recovering from defeat after all. “Yes. It’s only me.”

“Oh. I suppose you heard that.” Annette mumbles. Her face isn’t red with embarrassment. Instead she looks... emotionless. Blank, empty. 

“I did.” He says. 

“Sorry.” She says. “Mercie loves—“ she stops herself, swallowing hard. “Loved it here. We used to come for choir recitals a lot.”

“I see.”

“I was just... I miss her so much Felix.” Her voice cracks. She blinks rapidly, as if to keep tears in her eyes. 

“Do you know what happened to her?” 

Annette shakes her head. “I kept letters with her after Edelgard attacked the monastery. They stopped suddenly after three years.” Bad news. He draws a thin breath. “She didn’t even come for the reunion. I don’t know where she is.”

He stays quiet. Comfort is not his forte. 

“I came here to feel close to her. But I feel... Farther than ever from her and Faerghus.”

He takes a few steps closer. He touches her shoulder and Annette’s head falls against his chest. She grabs a handful of his cloak. “Why did things have to turn out like this...” she winces painfully. Her voice boarders on a sob.

His hand runs down her shrug, along her elbow and to her palm. He holds her hand in his. “Cruel fate.” He suggests. “Though, I’m glad it brought you back to me and Sylvain.”

She stays silent for a moment. Only breathing a hiccup of a tear as her thumb and fingers tighten around his wrist. 

“Felix, why didn’t you kill me on the battlefield.”

It’s a question that drives ice down his spine. His hand tightens around her palm. 

“You could have easily let the others kill me or done it yourself but you didn’t. I need to know why.” She says, finally looking up at him. Her eyes are full of angry tears. Unbefitting for such a pretty face.

”Why? Didn’t you agree to live on for those who died at Gronder?” He asks.

Her eyes flash with recognition. Her brow furrows. “I know I just...” She sighs. “I know I should be grateful that the Emperor agreed to spare me but I know it’s not out of kindness. There is none in her heart.”

He can’t say he disagrees. Edelgard is a guarded person. 

“I can’t forgive her or any of the Eagles.” She says. She begins to compose herself, wiping her gloved hands at her eyes. The fabric grows dark at the spots. “Not after what they did to Dimitri and the others.”

“No one expects you to.” He says. “Sylvain only complies for Dorothea’s safety.”

“And you?” She asks. 

He glances away. “A similar reason.”

For a moment, Felix swears he sees Annette’s lips turn up at the edges. Almost a real smile. Instead, she lets go of his hand. 

“Do you ever think I’ll find Mercedes again?” She asks. 

“Perhaps one day.” The smile fades quickly. He tries to recover, but can’t meet her gaze. He focuses on the shattered pieces of stained glass and how they perfectly centre on the moon. “After the war, I’ll help you.” He promises. 

“Really?” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Annette’s eyes widen in shock and surprise.

He nods. And he means it. 

“You look tired. Come on. Let’s go to the dorms.” He says, turning his back to her. He is both eager to take her newfound hope back to bed and give her good dreams, but to also seek rest himself. The exhaustion has just begun to settle in. Besides, he can’t face her after such an embarrassing promise. 

“I suppose...” her footsteps stop and she turns back into the light. His eyes follow her. Annette bows her head and clasps her hands. Her ginger hair is bleached in the moonlight, her white dress becoming blinding. “Goddess, thank you for bringing me back to Felix.” She says. It sends a flush to his face. She spins on her foot and walks beside him. As they walk back to the dormitories, he hears her hum. Softly and sweetly, like a songbird in a cage. 


End file.
